Hair Happiness

After 30+ years of battling my curls, I've decided they have won. No more straightening, brushing, fussing, or fighting. The good news is that I have finally found hair products that are completely made for curly hair. No, really. So many hair products SAY they are for curly hair but when I use them I end up with undefined, stringy, partially frizzy, mall-girl hair. Or defined but wet-looking and crunchy. Yuck.

Oh yeah...the hair product. It's called Ouidad. The namesake is a woman who owns a salon in NYC and caters only to curly hair. You can order her stuff online and it's worth every penny. She understands that not all curly hair is thick and heavy. Many curls are fine like mine and can get weighed down by all of the oil and goop that you tend to find in curly hair products.

I just may spend the $175 and have her cut my hair. She has done Sarah Jessica Parker. Gotta love that.

So, I'm happy for this. Small but important favors.

Pop culture drive-by: Rosie O'Donnell quits The View and doesn't complete her contract. She mentions on her blog that when the painting is done, it is time to walk away from the canvas. Rosie, darling, the painting has been done for quite some time now. Not only is it time to walk away from the canvas, it's time to put down the brushes and find something else to do. Something a little more suitable to your talents and your way-left-of-center politics.

I have a semi-soft spot for her because I know what it's like to get fired up and not always have a razor sharp retort. I know what it is like to feel passionately about an issue. And I know a thing or two about never feeling like "you're one of them". But she loses me when she spews hyperbole and bullies people. When did she get so shrill and mean?

Church Sign Wisdom 2

Madame President?

OK...I'm the first to admit that we women are way too hard on one another but......c'mon. While you don't have to be a beauty queen to hold public office, you can't look like you rolled out of bed after a bender. Oh Hil...I had such hope for you back when I thought all things liberal were sound and enlightened. Oh well.

Get some sleep darlin'. And get thee to a day spa. As far as your politics...well...I don't think a make-over will help you much there.

A woman in the White House would be a momentous achievement. Too bad she's the wrong woman.

Elizabeth Dole anyone?

The Politics of Life

A few months ago, I had dinner with two, dear nephews. It was a lovely evening. They were most interested in why I have become so conservative over the years. I explained that it had mostly to do with gradual epiphanies about the realities of personal responsibility, the shedding of naive perceptions about what are individual rights versus privileges, and a deeper, more reverent devotion to this gift we call life.

As recently as ten years ago, the term pro-life conjured an immediate picture for me. Anti-woman, anti-choice, right wing, extreme. You could not convince me otherwise. This is a woman's right, it is her choice, no one, especially the government, has any business interfering in what is a women's health issue. I said all of this and I was passionate in my conviction. I played the part anyway.

Yet, there was a lingering inner voice, urging me to question the Ms. Magazine talking points. How can we know for sure when life begins? Does a fetus feel pain? Can a woman truly feel sustainable relief after an abortion? Or does that fade and eventually turn into an immense sense of regret? Maybe even shame? Why are pro-choice advocates so zealous in their position that they fight any and all restrictions on a "procedure" that has such a chilling impact on our entire society? Regardless of however marginal or infrequently practiced, why do they resist ending barbaric practices such as partial birth abortion? How can they advocate abortion-at-will for underage girls, insisting that it be available without parental consent?

These and other questions sat in the back of my mind. Regardless, I maintained my pro-choice stance. And then everything changed for me the day I gave birth to my first child. Simple as that.

Until you hold your first newborn child you just cannot understand the enormity of the love that you will feel. It was so overwhelming to me that I felt stunned, almost paralyzed. The new sense of responsibility is beyond describable. The child trusts you for every single one of his needs. And you, his parent, are obligated to care for him in every way. How is it that we understand this for a born child but we do not afford the same basic standard of care for the unborn? Suddenly, I realized how arbitrary and ridiculous the born/unborn cutoff really is.

I also came to realize that this gift to create and bear life is not the bondage described in Women's Studies 101. It's an incredible power bestowed upon us and it is not to be taken lightly. I realize that unwanted pregnancy happens and that not all parents are equipped to meet the many demands of a child. Thankfully, adoption is a loving and responsible alternative when this situation occurs. There are so many resources available to women who find themselves in a crisis pregnancy. The Church certainly walks the walk where this is concerned. A good example: Gabriel Project.

I pray that I can live up to the responsibility that I have been given with my own children and that someday soon, the killing of untold numbers of children will someday end. I also pray that we elect officials who have the fortitude and determination to protect the weakest, most vulnerable among us.

The issue of life is pivotal and yet I have heard liberal pundits ask why are you people so focused on abortion? Are there not other, critical problems to solve? My answer is simple. Right now, we live in the midst of a holocaust. Thousands, if not millions of unwanted children are killed each year. It is state sanctioned child abuse. With this definition in mind, I cannot think of an issue that surpasses abortion, both in terms of scope and consequence.

Kid Quote

Mom: Ethan, with Daddy traveling so much, I'm really counting on you to be the man of the house.

Ethan: OK, but does that mean I have to be the guy who does everything around here?

Why I Am Catholic

Living in Wheaton, we Catholics are just a wee bit on the defensive. Unlike Chicago proper, we are the minority here. Certainly, there is no persecution or anything malevolent occurring. Actually, it's quite the opposite. I have wonderful neighbors whom I respect and admire. I've said it before: I'm really happy here. The reality, however, is that Wheaton, Illinois is largely comprised of evangelical Christians. And sometimes you just want to be around more people who believe and worship like you do.

Maybe that is why I'm really pleased about our newly elected leader in our little town. He is Wheaton's first Catholic mayor. How silly is it that I feel like we scored one for the team? Joking aside, I am told that this is big for these parts, the so called "golden buckle of the bible belt". As recently as 30-40 years ago, some Catholics had a hard time in this once "dry" town. Some felt ridiculed and mistreated by their fellow Christians. That's hard to imagine now but I don't doubt it is true. The Catholic Church has always had detractors.

The slights that you occasionally witness now are mild but noticeable. Sometimes even kind of funny. When we considered buying another house in the neighborhood, the builder proudly noted that one of the art nooks could proudly house "one of our Catholic statues". I just started laughing and he turned three shades of crimson. I asked him if he also had any ideas about where in the home we could dedicate our shrine to the Blessed Mother.

When I started parochial school in 1975, my grandmother was fearful that her mother-in-law, my great-grandmother Whistance, would find out and be upset. Lord only knows what those nuns were bound to do. They worship idols and saints! Great grandma was a certifiable holy roller. A card carrying member of the Assembly of God. Her great-granddaughter at a Catholic school? Let's just say the subject was avoided.

The fact is that I have loved my Church from the first day I entered Queen of Apostles (San Jose, California) in Fall, 1975. As a child, I felt great warmth, guidance, and love there. It was literally a salvation, a sanctuary from my chaotic, sometimes scary home life. I never felt limited or stifled by the routines and structure. If anything, I found solace. I knew that in this loving, nurturing environment, I was safe and protected. Far more than I was at home. Through their teaching, I knew that life as I then knew it was not a road map for the future. I could do anything and be anything because God had a plan. It was up to me to simply listen and follow through.

As a young adult, I lost my way as many do. Like a wayward child, armed with youthful arrogance, I wanted to go it on my own. I wanted to do it may way. So, I eschewed what I then perceived as rules intended to subjugate. It took me many years to fully realize that God doesn't impose rules to spoil our fun or to arbitrarily impose control. Rather, like the best parent, He knows what is best for us. And He gives us the free will to do it our way, even if such choices are destructive and empty. But there is always redemption once you've found your way. And love. More than we can possibly imagine or understand.

I truly appreciate the pageantry and ritual of the Church. It serves to remind all of us that the worship that we engage in is far larger than the life we know; it is truly elevated. And our ultimate salvation is not of this world. Signs and symbols all around to remind us that God's love is both ethereal and immense.

The Catholic Church has gravitas. It's not a start-up with a questionable future. Blue chip all the way. I can remember visiting a Pentecostal church as a child and witnessing their form of communion. Saltine crackers on a plate. Even as symbolism, I thought they missed the point. I remember thinking that they forgot the ham and cheese.

We recognize Communion as a gift from God, his actual body and and his blood. Receiving Communion is an intimate and reverent act. Children are taught for lengthy periods of time in order to participate in the Sacrament. We remind ourselves during the Mass, "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you but only say the word and I shall be healed".

Yes, there have been many problems in the Church, especially over the last several years. I'll address that in another post. Suffice it to say, all families have problems but you just don't up and leave your family. You work it out and you keep trying, the best way you can.

We're a Catholic family and happy to be so. I hope to be worthy of all the blessings that we receive on a daily basis. And I hope to see more of us in Wheaton in the years to come.

Church Sign Wisdom

There is a church here in Wheaton (one of dozens) that posts a pearl of wisdom on their lawn marquis. I don't know the denomination. In fact, I don't even know the name of the church. But I just love their drive-by messages. So, I'll try to share when I can. Here is this week's:

Autograph your work with excellence.

Another one from quite awhile ago comes to mind:

Don't confuse busyness with fulfillment.

More to come.

Wedding Season is Here!

--photograph by Shana Waarich

Off to California for my sister Becky's wedding. I'll have lots more to report on that front when I return. In the meantime, I was thinking about my own wedding--some twelve years ago. If I had it to do all over again, I would do it in a heart beat. I think Jim would say the same thing.

I'm glad that Ethan and McKenna will know that their parents really loved each other. Surely that is one of the greatest gifts parents can give their children.

I fear I'm sounding a little smug but I don't mean to. There is no fairy godmother working overtime here. We fight. We make-up. Nothing unusual or transcendent to report. It's just that we really work at it. A LOT. ALL OF THE TIME.

I'm just grateful for the here and now. For once.

We Called Her Nana

She was something. Nana had presence. If she was in the room, it was impossible to miss her. A big lady with charisma to spare. I don't think I realized until my adulthood just how pretty she was. At my wedding in 1995, a friend commented that my grandmother must have been a stunner in her day. Even with the extra weight and age, she radiated confidence. A huge smile, cafe' au lait skin, dark hair, sparkling eyes. Wore pastels better than anyone that comes to mind.




And that laugh. Just a hair shy of raucous, sometimes a little forced, but never grating. You heard it when she was at her most mischievous, telling you a tall tale from her past that may or may not have had any resemblance to actual events. In a spirit of affection, my mother recently remarked that Nana rarely let the truth get in the way of a good story.




Much of her life is cloaked in mystery. I think Nana liked it that way. She thrived on drama. Some of her choices were questionable. Not everyone has a warm fuzzy where Nana is concerned. She did the best she could, I think. How Nana raised seven children (one died as a toddler), largely without the help of her first two husbands, is hard to fathom. I'm not giving her a pass. I'm just allowing the passage of time to sort of soften the edges of her mistakes. History in soft focus.

It seems to me that Nana was a better grandparent than parent. I guess that's the case with a lot of people. As a child, I was always very excited to visit her. There was always a whirlwind of kids and fun at her house. And she showered me with affection.

My Uncle Bobby Rabie, Nana, and me circa 1968

I was not close to Nana in the later years of her life. I regret that now. If I had it to do over again, I would. So, I will pay my overdue respect to her in the best and most meaningful way I can. My hope is to document at least one version of her story in the most loving way possible. There has always been lots of talk over the years about her faults. Still, no one could say that she did not love her family. Maybe not the way they needed it. But maybe the only way she knew how.

Nana and the new Mrs. Eckroth (me) September 3, 1995

In the end, there was absolutely no one like her. And as my sister's wedding approaches, I find myself thinking that she will surely be missed. She was not one to skip a party.

Nana, dear Grandmother... May God keep you safe and loved. You are in my heart, mind, and prayers tonight.

Jazzy's Home!!!

There is a long and amazing story that must be told and I will tell it...just not tonight. Bottom line, after 8 days on the lamb, Jazzy is home where he surely belongs. We just love this crazy critter.

Pretends to be bored and above-it-all.



Crabby, aloof, and finicky. Perfect.


Requirements: High quality food and water available at all times, cat box cleaned and in immaculate condition, petting/cuddling only when he wants it--otherwise don't bug him. Brush frequently. Play with him until he tires of the game and walks away. Then leave him alone or you will get smacked. Be prepared to get swatted for any reason because he feels like it. Allow him to climb in bed with you and walk over any part of your body until he finds a suitable place to nap. Clean crud out of his eyes and his nose because he has a flat face and it accumulates frequently. Provide a cat-nip filled sock for him at all times. Acknowledge him when you enter a room but do not expect the return favor. Expect that he will climb into any open closet, cabinet or other suitable orifice and disappear for long periods of time. Assume that he will plop on any clean, folded laundry. More requirements are forthcoming.

Works for us.

Welcome home Jazzy!

By the way, today is Easter and Christ is risen. Amen.

Miraculous Kindness

Today I thought about an incident that still baffles me. Three years ago, when my Grandfather was in the last stages of a terminal illness, I had a brief but unnerving phone conversation with a family member in California. Up to that point, everyone was somewhat optimistic about the illness being "kept at bay". We could not expect a cure but perhaps it could be treated and maintained in remission. I was informed that that hope was overly optimistic and that Grandpa was not doing well at all. Seeking confirmation, I called the doctor at V.A. who advised me in a less-than-delicate tone that if I wanted to see Grandpa while he was still living, I should get on a plane. Now.

I was not hysterical but I was really, really sad. Ethan must have been napping; Jim was at work. It was the middle of the day and I was alone with my thoughts (This was before McKenna was born). And then I heard knocking on our mud room door. Generally, neighbors and family use that entrance. Solicitors, charity fund raisers, and missionaries are the only folks who use the front door or the "main entrance". So, thinking it was a neighbor, I went to the mud room and, to my mild surprise, greeted a stranger.

He was a genial young man in his early twenties, clean cut with brown hair. Honestly, at that point, I thought I was in for a heaping helping of Mormon or Jehovah Witness hokum. What I got, however, was something very different. He simply said that he was passing our house, felt a sadness or that we were somehow experiencing a hard time. He looked at me directly and told me that everything was going to be alright. And then he walked away. That was it. No Bible thumping, no caricature filled handouts foretelling the end of time.

This was three years ago and I still don't know how to process the encounter. None of my neighbors knew about the information that I literally just received moments before this man knocked on my door. So, it's not like a well intentioned neighbor informed him that I might need some counsel. There is nothing about our home that screams "troubled occupants". In fact, quite the opposite is true. How could this complete stranger know to stop? What compelled him to do it?

This much I do know...A gentle, kind man sought me out to provide a smile and some comfort, however small. How he knew to stop, knock on my door and provide solace to me, an unknown woman, is a mystery. It doesn't haunt me but I think about it from time to time. I have tried to rationalize the whole thing by surmising that he saw me through my kitchen window, speaking on the phone and appearing distraught. Perhaps he intended to give me a spiel but then recognized my demeanor and decided to back off and simply render some badly needed cheer.

Any way you cut it, it was a lovely, unexpected gift. How very blessed I am to live in a town where people genuinely still care about one another. Because of this, I'm learning to part with untold layers of California cynicism. In the middle of my life, I am seeing miracles that I never took the time to notice before. Goodness can just sneak up on you and sometimes even scare you when it is unexpected or when you are not accustomed to it. You wonder what the angle is. Out of sheer habit you almost find ways to dismiss or minimize it. On a really dark day, I might even ridicule it. I'm learning though.

I now think angels appear in all kinds of subtle, vicarious ways, working through people's routine thoughts and actions. And then again, maybe an angel can just skip all of that and simply knock on your door.

Either way, kindness in all forms is truly divine.

Flower Girl Preview

McKenna's big debut...As to whether she actually walks down the aisle at Aunt Becky's wedding in a couple of weeks...the odds are 50/50. With bribes of chocolate, I actually got her in the dress!



Love you sweet girl. I just love these times with you!

Ethan's Birthday Party Recap

This was shortly before one boy decided to "moon" the camera. No, it was not my child. It easily could have been. Ethan was in sugar psychosis.

Ethan had a lot of fun and we survived. I'm too tired to comment further, except to ask...How can my little baby boy be five years old already?

My Friend Phyllis

We met in 1994 during a job interview. It was a team deal. If you've had any type of job in corporate America, you know what I am talking about. A select number of group employees get to individually issue a round of questions and then reconvene to decide fate as you know it.

I don't remember where Phyllis landed on the inquisition roster that day but I do recall feeling immensely relieved when she sat down across from me, behind the beige desk, under the the bluest of blue lights. I had just been interrogated by a very high strung, rather unfriendly little waif of a woman. I knew within two minutes that she was voting me off of the show. But Phyllis was different and I knew, just knew, that I would have a fighting chance to get this job if I clicked with her.

The job was doable for me. Unfortunately, my resume didn't reflect that reality. A lot of self discovery, tons of life experience but not a lot of tangible accomplishment. Phyllis gave me the time and space to explain my way around these shortcomings. She listened to me. Sounds simple, I know. But you could tell that she was actually hearing my answers and not automatically formulating the next question while I spoke.

Right away, I liked her. I didn't get the corporate spiel. She told me that yes, this was a great company but that I better be prepared to work day and night, weekends, whatever it took. And I'd better like total chaos because the place was nuts. Prosperous to be sure but a nut house all the same. Phyllis was no sad-sack but she certainly was no cheerleader. A woman after my own heart.

I saw her when I left the building that morning and I could have just given her the obligatory "thanks for taking the time" salutation. But that would not have felt right. I remember firmly shaking her hand with both of mine and thinking that even if I didn't get the job, she would surely be a great person to know.

Yes,I got the job. And we became fast friends We worked together, apart, for, and around each other over the course of the next several years. She guided, taught, coached, and counseled. On occasion, she was disappointed in me. In those few instances, I felt great shame and regret. But I learned and it made me better. And I appreciated her willingness to shake me off of the high horse from time to time. I love to get on my high horse you know. Still do.

Phyllis is accomplished and has a number of interests outside work. I always admired this about her. She loves art, music, gourmet food, and travel. She is well read. And most importantly, she has a heart of gold. She cares about the way people feel and isn't about being the center of attention. I love the way she enjoys simple things, like good conversation and an interesting piece of news.

I've witnessed some of her struggles and I'm inspired by her resiliency. She is always willing to try something new, to forge unchartered territory. I know she would appreciate a partner but her life has not come to a standstill without one. She is a testament to figuring it out and getting it done. I've learned a lot from her these past 13 years.

Even though we are separated by distance and have different life circumstances at the moment, I think of her often and I know she feels the same.

I just love Phyllis.

Thinking About Cassandra Floyd

For some reason, she stumbled into my thoughts today. What happened really was unthinkable. Undoubtedly, the enormity of her tragic, violent death is recognized by countless people. And like so many, I ache for her mother and father and have often wondered how they have managed over the years. I've also fathomed how I, a parent, would cope if faced with such devastating circumstances. Is there a time when a mother thinks about the death of her child a mere twenty-five times in any given day? Is that any improvement over the year before when one quietly, inwardly grieved at clockwork intervals, syncing life's cadence to a predictable drone of rhythmic, inevitable sadness? Or the year it happened, when it surely consumed every moment, every thought, every breath. I can only begin to imagine. Some say that the pain never really goes away. It just becomes something different, diffused through a prism of routine living. Just less focused so that maybe, it doesn't hurt quite so much as it did the day before.

As a mother, I can't shake the thought of a four year-old girl losing both of her parents. Ethan is now four, going on five, and he really needs me for so many things. Beyond the obvious stuff, he is out of sorts if we're apart for too long. I know that he craves my attention on everything from super heroes to lower-case letters. My opinions shape his thoughts. Without fail, he knows that I will replace his kicked-off covers before I go to bed. He trusts both Jim and I will keep his world safe and to be there each and every morning. How does a child awake to learn that these basic promises could not be kept and that her whole world is just gone?

Thankfully we take comfort in the resiliency of children. After all, this little girl comes from impressive stock. While I wasn't close to Cassandra, and only crossed paths with her in social situations throughout high school and college, I remember some very admirable qualities about her. Despite her origins of affluence and privilege, she was not frivolous nor undisciplined. High achievement came naturally to her. And was she smart. She excelled in math and science at a time when it still wasn't "cool" for girls to do so. Even as a teenager, she carried an air of calm authority about her. We all knew that Cassandra would get an "A" on that honors Chemistry test. Her chosen career in medicine was certainly a natural progression.

Tonight I pray for Cassandra's daughter, and for the family members who now care for her. I have got to believe that she will be OK and the legacy she has inherited will only be a sad but surmountable footnote in an otherwise happy life. She's got so many people cheering her on.

To Cassandra's parents, please know that so many of us think of you often and pray that you have known some peace with the passage of time. I hope there is comfort in knowing the esteem so many of us continue to feel for your daughter's memory.

As for Cassandra, may the Lord keep her well and loved beyond measure.

You're Only As Happy...

as your least happy child. Or so I am told by my mother-in-law, Millie.

Right about now, my least happy child is torn up over the fact that our cat Jazzy escaped from an open window on Monday. It is now early Saturday morning and no Jazzy. The lengths to which I have gone to find this cat border on absurdity. I'm too tired to map out those logistics at the moment. Suffice it to say that I had to break it to Ethan that yes, Jazzy is lost. Oh the tears. Not whiny ones either. Just pure heartbreak. And my heart broke right along with his.

He cried off and on for three hours last night. I tried to distract him and it worked for moments at a time. Then he would remember and get sad all over again. I have to remind myself that this is the same child who could not get past the first 10 minutes of "March of the Penguins" because he was worried that a solitary bird did not have enough friends. He went nearly hysterical when watching the movie "Eight Below" because the thought of dogs being left alone in Antarctica for months on end was more than he could bear. When reading books to him, I have to be extra mindful of any sad element in the plot and edit when I can. He is very, very empathetic for his age and I love that about him. I just wish for his sake that he could ratchet it down a notch or two. It might make coping with life's inevitable sadnesses just a little easier.

So, the search for Jazzy continues. I would do anything to spare Ethan this anguish. The worst part of all of this is that I know that this won't be the first time he will feel pain, loss, or grief. I can't spare him and I can't endure those emotions for him. This is a very helpless part of the parenting arrangement. I guess the best I can do is to help him cope, try to keep positive about the outcome, and pass on some resiliency that he will surely need in the future.

The baby books just don't prepare you for this stuff. You just have to go on instinct.

By the way, I really miss Jazzy too.

Oracle Speaks..and Borrows a Few

As a follow-up to "Leigh-isms", Oracle decided to throw in a few pearls of her own:

If you don't have on lipstick, you don't look done.

Don't spit up because it will land in your face....meaning never say never.(Mirtha B.)

Berkeley is sister city to the world but they can't fix the damn potholes. (Jimmy B.)

What is the point of having kids if you don't make them do chores.

A little fear in a kid is a good thing. (I am not that great at this one.) They should never think they have you where they want you, because then you are screwed.

Always shave your pits.

College is not for everyone, but if not college, then trade school.

If you look back and think High School was the best time of your life, then your life is pretty pitiful. You peaked at 17. This is true even if high school was great.

Good penmanship is a good thing.

Always make your bed.

Print your photos. People look at albums, not computer files.

Taxes suck.

If you make an effort to be happy, generally you are. If you need a pill for this, by all means, take it.

How come the biggest proponents of "diversity" don't understand that that extends to diversity of ideas. Few of them know any born-again Christians but almost all know a Latino trans-gender socialist. (Of course this is an exaggeration, but you get my point.)

I have a God-given right to the parking space in front of my house.

Wear your seat belt.

There is nothing wrong with liking James Taylor, Rod Stewart, and Barry Manilow. Because I like easy listening does not mean I have a character flaw.

Learn English!

Hamsters are vermin.

Dressing your little girl in cute clothes is one of the joys in life.

Who the hell lets their kids have Bratz dolls. Go ahead, teach your kid to be a ho.

Tampax was a GREAT invention.

Why do salads made by someone else always taste better than ones I make myself?

Finding a good parking space in the City is a signal to me that my day will be a good one.

If you put out good vibes, generally good ones will come bouncing back.

The older I get, the less I like fighting. Yes, I used to enjoy a good argument years ago.

A book address book is better than a computer one.

Trees make houses and neighborhoods look better.

Nurses will sell each other out in a heart beat, but docs will cover the asses of their colleagues, even when they need to be hung out to dry. I think this is really a male/female thing at heart.

Having it "all" is a lie.

You will probably scar your kids for life no matter what you do, and some day they will be on the couch blaming you, so screw it. Just do your best.

It is good to say no to your kids.

Your kids will find your weaknesses and use them against you. They are very clever.

Being punctual is a virtue.

Sugar beats salty.

You can't have too many photos.

I don't get the point of scrap booking.

One decent vacation a year is necessary.

The older I get, the less stuff I need.

Kids need to go to bed early. On average, kids today don't get enough sleep.

Why is God So Loud?

At bed time, Ethan asked why God is so loud. Of course, I had no idea what he meant. The conversation went something like this...

Ethan: Well, when we go to church, he's really loud. Is he that loud at home?

Mommy: Ethan, are you talking about God or Father Don?

Ethan: You mean Father Don is different from God? I thought he was God.

Mommy: No, Ethan. We've talked about this. Father Don speaks ABOUT God. Father Don is a man. You know, like Daddy.

Ethan: Daddy doesn't wear dresses Mom.

Mommy: Yes, that is true Ethan. Now, about the loud part. Father Don wears a microphone so that everyone can hear him in the Church.

Ethan: Mom, he doesn't have a microphone! Microphones are the the things you hold when you're a rock star.

Mommy: That's one kind of microphone. Father Don's is very small and attaches to the outside of his, well uh... dress. But we don't call it a dress; it is called a vestment.

Ethan: So, does he talk that loud at home?

Mommy: No sweetie. He doesn't need a microphone at his home.

Ethan: You could probably use a microphone when me and McKenna horse around and are screaming and not listening to you. Father Don can use it to yell at his kids.

Mommy: Not a bad idea Ethan, except that Father Don does not have children.

Ethan: Are you kidding me? I thought you said his name was FATHER Don.

Mommy: In his case, FATHER is kind of used like MR. It's a title.

Ethan: I don't understand. Why doesn't he have kids?

Mommy: There's a lot to explain here honey and it's getting late...

Ethan: I'm pretty sure he has kids.

Mommy: No. The children you see with him are from your school. He isn't their Daddy though.

Ethan: Oh. Isn't he going to get some?

Mommy: Honey, priests do not get married and they do not have children. This is a deal that they make with God.

Ethan: Is he sad about it?

Mommy: I don't think so sweet bear. He made the choice to just give all his attention to God and to tell people about how great God is.

Ethan: OK. But maybe he doesn't have to tell people SO LOUDLY.

Ethan: Mommy, why are you laughing?

Leigh-isms

Nora Ephron wrote a really funny and very on-point book about aging, vanity, motherhood, and more: I Feel Bad About My Neck. I just loved it. Her observations are perfect. Some include:

A woman can't own too many black turtleneck sweaters (Amen sister. I must have 5)

Don’t buy anything that is 100 percent wool even if it seems to be very soft and not particularly itchy when you try it on in the store.

The plane is not going to crash.

Anything you think is wrong with your body at the age of thirty-five you will be nostalgic for at the age of forty-five. (At 40, I'm already there.)

If the shoe doesn’t fit in the shoe store, it’s never going to fit.

There’s no point in making pie crust from scratch.

If only one third of your clothes are mistakes, you’re ahead of the game.

Now, some of my own:

Go to Church when you want to the least.

You just have to dress for your figure.

I don't care what you say, feet are ugly. No matter what you do to them.

You must have friends who are women.

Poor grammar, both written and oral, is judged very harshly.

If you don't have any female friends, time to figure out why not.

The best marriages aren't always obvious.

Women are very hard on one another.

Your hair stylist is worth the money.

You cannot and should not do your own hair coloring. Ever.

Beauty is not simply organic; it can be created.

Women CAN have it all...just not all at the same time.

College is always worth it.

Flip flops should be reserved for tropical, third world countries.

Nothing looks more tired than unpolished shoes with scuffed toes.

Own at least one thing that you could not bear to part with.

A nice fragrance can change your mood.

A well organized linen closet is a worthy goal.

A parent who does not document her children's lives through photos and words is shirking a major responsibility.

Use sunscreen every day of you life.

Never, ever economize on a bra.

Find at least one thing to do that you love so much you lose track of time.

Learn to apologize well.

Buy the best quality you can possibly afford.

One of my primary goals as a mother is to make good memories for my children.

Full-time day care and full-time mommy care should both be avoided when possible.

Once you drive a German car, all others pale.

Ask someone over for dinner who doesn't get many invites. You'll both feel better.

Complete as many personal goals as possible BEFORE having children.

High thread count sheets can make up for a really bad day.

You will never spend less than $100 at Costco.

See a live performance at least once a year.

Dressing children is one of the joys in life.

Display books in your home.

Puppy breath is one of the best smells in the world.

Fresh flowers make any room prettier.

That party you are dreading will usually end up being enjoyable.

Most of the time, you're never going to use that coupon you cut out.

Receiving a handwritten note in the mail is like manna from Heaven.

Nivea lotion works as well as the $40 stuff you bought at Nordstrom.

Talk to your son about super heroes.

Every once in a while, you need to think about when you are wrong.

Balancing your checkbook to the penny is a waste of time.

If you wear black pants more than once a week, you're wearing them too much.

Decide what you want and then figure out the money. Not the other way around.

Hearing your daughter say "twubble" (trouble) is one of the cutest things in the world.

Admire humble people and act accordingly.

People who don't read for pleasure are really missing out.

Putting away folded laundry is a dismal chore.

Well fitting undergarments can make up for all kinds of things.

Wearing absolutely no make-up is almost as bad as wearing too much.

Shopping at Target is more fun than several things I can think of.

People who don't like animals scare me a little.

Put the shopping cart back in the designated area instead of teetering it against the lamp post closest to your car.

Beyond a wedding band, men don't really look good in jewelry.

Clutter and disorganization chip away at your sanity.

When you want to throttle your wayward children, pull out the baby albums.

Some Favorites

No particular order.

Beautiful baby girl...though not such a baby anymore

Wipe out (fake)

Summer clad McKenna

Captain Ethan - Cockpit American Airlines. What FAA regulations?

Halloween 06

Out-of-control dimples

I'm gonna wrap you up like a baby burrito!

Who are you and why are you close-talking?

You can't fake this kind of joy

flower power

Kojak in a bathing suit

Note the arm crease. Love it!

Free and easy in Florida

They "get" each other. Always have.
Easily pass for brother and sister.

Why waste a perfectly good opportunity to mess up (or improve, you choose) a Kodak moment?

First love - Gemma

Suburban cowboy

The tradition continues

New baby, petrified Mom. Both of us survived.

Great Grandpa and Ethan. I love this photo.

Relish the cute times. They don't let you dress them like this for very long.